


It's The Voltron One-shots (Doo Doo Doo Doo)

by welove1stickyboi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura is Fed Up, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Backstory, Ehhhh, Emo Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Gen, How Do I Tag, I could have done more with this honestly, I'll add to these tags as I add more oneshots I guess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Let's make that a tag yo, Loosely related oneshots, Oneshot, Pidge walks up to the scene like "Whaddup I got a big coat", She'd probably be excited about murder too tbh, Shiro (Voltron) is So Done, Team Turquoise For The Win, The Author Regrets Everything, Unnecessary Ridiculousness, be warned, good luck, i guess, that's a tag, this is the first of many, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welove1stickyboi/pseuds/welove1stickyboi
Summary: This is basically just bits and bobs I have stored away in my google drive. I'm making them into loosely (or not so loosely... eh) related one-shots published on here. Basically just space kids being space kids, and whatever other trash I come up with.I... hope you enjoy? I hope you enjoy. Enjoy!'The boy flopped down on his new bed, getting the feel of it the traditional way. It was a little too firm, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He slid off the bed, landing anti-climatically on the floor. Flipping over, he scrambled under the bed. Very little space (ha, space - oh, hell  y e s , he was gonna be in  s p a c e ), but he’d make do. Hard, cold floor - yeesh, Garrison. Military much? Twisting around, he was about to get out when -The door tssssed open. Large feet clad in white, black, and orange boots thudded into the room. A bag dropped heavily onto the floor. The person sighed. Must be Hunk, Lance thought.A wicked grin slowly crept onto his face.Let’s see what kinda guy he is.Lance popped out from under the bed with a bright grin. “Hi!”The scream was heard from several buildings away.It was the start of a beautiful friendship.'





	1. The Jacket

As long as Lance could remember, there had always been the jacket.

The jacket was huge, baggy, faded, greens and browns mixed together and stitched with love and attention (and much cursing). It was well-worn, but still holding itself firm, even with the long years of its lifetime.

The jacket’s first wearer had been Lance’s older brother, Antonio. Antonio was a tall, sporty boy with the typical McClain hair pulled back into a floofy ponytail. He had a tiny chuckle of a laugh. He was the sort of person to ruffle people’s feathers without actually damaging them, and always knew how to make someone smile.

(Lance was going to grow up to be just like Antonio, he decided when he was five. Only with superpowers. Those were cool.)

His eyes were the exact same shade of blue as Papa’s. They even joked about Antonio being Papa’s mini-me, at which point Papa would mock-offendedly place a hand on his chest and declare that he was _far_  more attractive than Antonio, thank you very much, to which Antonio would pointedly stare at their Papa’s receding hairline, and Papa would admit huffy defeat.

He was teasingly (read: affectionately) known as Antonio Baloneyo. Nobody really knew why. The name came out of nowhere one day, and just kind of… stuck. Stuck like a cooked noodle to a wall. Lance knew this due to the fact that he was an official Noodle-Thrower in the kitchen, famed through all the household for his skills in aim and judging when the pasta was Just Right. Eventually, when they were having noodles, the whole family knew to keep clear - Lance disturbed while cooking was something to be feared. Hey, that rhymed! He was a poet and he didn’t even know it -

Uh, yeah. Insert awkward cough and fingerguns here. Anyway. If he didn’t like it, Antonio never brought it up. (Even if he did bring it up, Lance probaby wouldn’t have stopped calling him that anyway. It was too catchy.)

Antonio had come home from school complaining that his old jacket was getting too small and: _boom._  Mama McClain had a challenge to complete. You really didn’t want to be the person to get in her way. (Legend said that she once made Papá sleep on the sofa for a few days because she was making a platoon of baby socks for Francisco and didn’t want to be disturbed, and thus locked him out of their shared room. When Lance heard of this, whispered as a ghost tale to him by Antonio, he made sure to be wary.)

She would sit by the window sewing the emerald and chestnut material together, a frown knitting her brow, and every time Antonio saw her, he’d say: “You see that? You see that? It’s going to be made into my very own jacket. My very own one.” And he’d be so proud that his mother was making something specially for him that the eight-year-old Lance had been… jealous, to put it mildly. Why did Antonio get a jacket and he couldn’t?

He didn’t ask, of course. That would be rude, and Mama had told them that manners were Very Important. He wasn’t really sure why - if you wanted something, why didn’t you ask-? But he decided to play it safe. For now.

Then the jacket was complete and it was his older brother’s. Antonio was so smug about it. He would wear it every time they went out, and looked Very Cool. That’s what he said, anyway. Lance wasn’t really sure if Antonio was cool. Why couldn’t he shoot lasers from his eyes? Why didn’t he fly and have the swooshy cape? Why wasn’t he fighting bad guys?

Antonio’s pride in his jacket wouldn’t last very long. The boy had a broad-shouldered physique, grew fast, and soon the jacket was too small. Lance hoped it was his turn.

Not yet, apparently.

The jacket’s second wearer- or wear _ers_ \- was (or , y’know, were? It was “were” when there were more than one thing, right? Not that the twins were _things_ , of course, but - you know what, whatever) the twins, who were older than Lance by around two years. Zamira and Lillynn both wore it. Nobody really knew how the arrangement worked, but somehow it did. Their reactions varied upon being presented with it, but everyone really knew that it was treasured.

(“Oh my _god_ , Mama! Green isn’t even in _style_!” Lillynn had exclaimed, scandalised. Zamira, Lillynn’s twin, wasn’t really bothered about what she wore. She threw anything on. It worked. She’d been blessed with the McClain Family Good Looks™, after all.

“Lillynn, if you don’t want it, I’m fine with keeping it to myself,” Zamira said in her low, almost whispery voice, in a tone that Lance identified as teasing (it was kinda hard to tell with her). Her mouth twitched into the tiniest smile, the pale brown skin around her eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly. Lillynn spluttered.

“I didn’t - ”

Zamira rolled her dark eyes. She was the only one in the family that had inherited them from a generation that was who-knows how many years back. They were the same colour as her boy-short, black hair - once again, unique to the teenager. “Come on then. Thanks, Mama,” she tossed quietly over her shoulder as she left the cluttered room, dragging a pink-cheeked Lillynn with her. Lance and his Mama watched them go, then turned to each other with the same quirk in their lips that was synonymous with the twins’ antics.)

He’d often hovered at the edge of their room, wanting to come in but not quite daring, and eventually Lillynn had called him out on it.

If Zamira was a child of the night, Lillynn was her sun-kissed opposite. She had beautifully brown skin, eyes like the safe, blue, little night-light in the corner of Lance’s room, and lips permanently confident. She was tall, willowy, with shiny hair that reached her waist, and made the boys (and a fair few of the girls, even though they tried to hide it) swoon.

The twins had polar opposite personalities that just... _clicked._  But, there were certain aspects of these same personalities that were closely linked, such as their shared talent for mischief. With Lillynn’s persuasion, and Zamira’s expertise at stealth, they were well-known (only in certain trusted groups of course) for being the people you went to if you wanted vengeance.

“Lance, why are you just… standing there?” she frowned, coming to the door. Lillynn’s tanned skin seemed to glow in the hall’s light. She was wearing the jacket over her pyjamas, Lance noticed jealously. “What are you doing here?”

Lance had raced through the various answers he could give before blurting, “Uh, I, um, wanted to know how you did that, uh, beauty thing?” He finished it off with awkward finger guns. _Everyone falls for the finger guns_ , Antonio had once told him. Lance took it to heart, and prayed that it worked in that moment.

To be fair, it could have been something worse.

Lillynn’s expression had shifted from eyes narrowed in suspicion to an absolute beam. “I knew one of you would come around!” she cried, dragging him into her room and gathering her supplies. Before, Lillynn had nagged the family to take proper care of their skin, nails, _whatever_ , but had been brushed off. Looking back, Lance shook his head in disappointment at his former self. Self-care was very important. Holy cheese, kid.

(He didn’t get the jacket. But he did start something that he would continue even now. Routines were the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, and he mentally thanked Lillynn for it each day.)

The rest of the evening was spent doing face masks, testing what moisturizers worked on Lance’s skin, and by the end of it, he found that he liked it. It felt nice, looking after yourself. That night, he went back to his room with a new hobby.

(But still no jacket.)

Eventually ( _eventually_ ), the twins grew out of it. Well, Lillynn had been hanging on to it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Zamira may have persuaded her to give it up.

(Lance hoped it was his turn.)

 

 

 

 

(It was his turn.)

Though it may have taken a little nudging, Lillynn grudgingly passed the thing over in one of their beauty meetups.

“There you go,” she grumbled. “Have the horrible thing. It’s a terrible colour, Lance, really, and it might even suit you more than me, but really…”

Lance wasn’t really listening. That night, In addition to his usual creams, he painted his fingernails an army green.

“That colour is clashing with everything and hurting my eyes, _tu git_ ,” Lillynn complained. He did notice her eyeing the bottle, in spite of her claims that it was a terrible colour, so he didn’t paint too many layers.

They finished up the evening, and Lance went back to his room, running his fingers wonderingly over the material again and again, careful not to smudge his freshly painted nails that matched the thing.

( _His_ jacket.)

Years later, the jacket still fit. It was kind of huge actually. Huge, baggy, and faded. Didn’t change much.

Years later, Lance was leaving for the Garrison. Fransisco, his younger brother, was grabbing at his jacket, crying ( _crying_ ), so he crouched down and whispered in his ear:

“You’re not allowed to miss me when I’m gone, _bueno_? I’ll call you as much as I can. Don’t cry.”

Fransisco sniffled, blinking red eyes at him. “But you-”

“Ok, no, nope, no. No buts.” Fransisco giggled wetly. “Oh come on, really? You’re still laughing at stuff like that?” He booped his nose, rewarded by the hint of a grin.

Oh, wait. _Idea!_  Lance tugged the jacket off his shoulders, swooshing it over and around so that it rested like a superhero’s cape (he had wanted to be one of those when he was younger, right?) on Fransico’s small frame. “There you go! Now you can’t miss me.”

Fransisco started to smile. “Come on,” grinned Lance, swinging the smaller one onto his back, smirking at the squeal, “Let’s get in the car.”

(It was Fransico’s jacket now. But Lance found that he didn’t really mind.)

A familiar drive in a familiar, battered, blue car. Mama affectionately badgered and cursed at the automobile in equal measure. One moment it was, “Come on, come on, _novio,_ " and the next, “Move it, _eres una estupidez_!”. It was awe-inspiring to watch. Even if they had to cover Isa and Fransisco’s ears at times.

And then Lance was trying not to cry as he boarded a plane, the memories of his family’s hugs still fresh in his mind. He tripped over on the steps trying to look back, but the familiar laughter from below he got in return was worth it. Lance entered with a small smile gracing his lips.

Rushing to a seat. Peering out of the tiny window ( _Dios, ¿por qu_ _e estas cosas eran tan malditamente pequeñas?_ ). Searching for a last glimpse.

(He got it.)

Mama was laughing tearfully and waving. His dad had Isa, the littlest, bouncing on his shoulder, tugging at his tiny ponytail, and Lance could see that he was trying to be macho (because the McClain’s were the coolest family you could find, and - yup, he was crying. His macho father was crying) but failing miserably. And Fransico…

Fransisco stood beside Mama, wearing a t-shirt. No jacket. _Thanks, lil' bro,_  Lance thought, frown furrowing his brow. _And here I thought we had a moment._

The Cuban boy kept waving and smiling, and waving and smiling, until his family were just tiny smudges next to the slightly bigger smudge that was the airport.

(Why wasn’t Fransico wearing the jacket?)

Soon, he’d be flying one of these babies. But smaller. Way cooler. And it’d be in space. Wow. Galaxy Garrison was gonna be great. Lance leaned back into the seat, feeling the thrum of the engine, and gazed out of the window, dreaming.

***

Lance was in his new room. Apparently, he’d been put in a room with another guy named Hunk. Cool name, hopefully cool guy, right? Of course, it had worked that way for him, but not everyone could be Lance. The world would be overrun by awesomeness.

The boy flopped down on his new bed, getting the feel of it the traditional way. It was a little too firm, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He slid off the bed, landing anti-climatically on the floor. Flipping over, he scrambled under the bed. Very little space (ha, space - oh, hell _yes_ , he was gonna be in _space_ ), but he’d make do. Hard, cold floor - yeesh, Garrison. Military much? Twisting around, he was about to get out when -

The door _tssssssed_ open. Large feet clad in white, black, and orange boots thudded into the room. A bag dropped heavily onto the floor. The person sighed. _Must be Hunk_ , Lance thought.

A wicked grin slowly crept onto his face.

_Let's see what kinda guy he is._

Lance popped out from under the bed with a bright grin. “Hi!”

The scream was heard from several buildings away.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

***

Later that night, Lance finally unpacked. This was mainly because Mama had told him that if he didn’t do it on the first night, she would personally find his dorm and whack him with Antonio’s old scarf. (For some reason, it had beads threaded on the tassels, and those were _painful._ ) He didn’t doubt that she would keep her promise, regardless of the information she would have to obtain, and the distance she would have to travel. It was  _Mama_. Enough  _said._

Besides, he needed his supplies out. He was just storing the last of his clothes away when -

There. In the bottom of the suitcase. The jacket.

(Apparently, Fransisco had decided differently than Lance.)

The boy smiled and slipped it on. _Thanks, 'Frisco._

***

As long as Lance could remember, there had always been the jacket.

It was stitched with love and attention (and quite a lot of cursing), greens and browns mixed together, baggy and faded, yet still holding strong even with the long years of its lifetime.

(It was Lance’s.)

It was familiar, and it was home. Home, where there were eyes like night-lights, and cluttered rooms, and odd baby socks, and floofy ponytails. Home, where there were noodles on walls and garlic knots, and long, squashed drives in a battered blue car, and old dreams and peeling posters of superheroes. Home, where his Mama would have to stand on a chair to argue with his Papa, and they would laugh so much that they forgot what they were arguing about, and where Lillynn did her beauty routines and Zamira pretended not to steal her nail polish, and where Fransico patiently sat with Isa, and Antonio did his mad runs, and... and… and someday the jacket will return there. To home.

(It was never really his jacket, anyway.)

Lance will make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I tried. Feedback'd be cool. Thanks for reading!


	2. Allura is Totally a Queen (Fan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura is followed by a band of aliens singing perfect earth songs. She needs to find out why.  
> Featuring:  
> * Sherlock Holmes and John Watson as his partner  
> * Shiro's downfall  
> * Coran playing the space guitar  
> * Pseudo Team Rocket  
> * Keith being an emo child  
> * And other trash
> 
> '“This is an Earth song, princess. It -”
> 
> Behind him, the door hissed open again ( t s s s s s s s s s ), and he knew that it was Keith that had entered the room. Shiro heard the younger’s footsteps falter, then slowly turn around and start to edge out. Whipping around at the speed of light, he caught the back of Keith’s suit and dragged him back in.
> 
> He lifted the red paladin up to eye level.
> 
> “Not THAT easily.”
> 
> “When I said ‘die together’ this is not what I meant.”'

_“Paladins! Report to the contro -”_

 

_“ -angerine trees and marmalade skies -”_

 

_The quiznack was that?_

 

_“Report to the control room immediately!”_

 

Shiro tucked his hemet under his arm, running smoothly out of the sensory doors of his quarters, and setting course for the nearby control room. He had donned his paladin armour earlier in the cycle to become accustomed to it in preparation for future missions. It was very strong, yet very light, on his back, almost as though it might fly off at any minute. The feeling wasn’t reassuring.

 

As he neared his destination, a cacophony of sounds rose to meet his ears, slipping faintly through the walls and into the hallway he was currently sprinting down. His pulse quickened. It thudded in his ears. Was there fighting going on? Allura had requested their presences - _immediately._ The princess was completely capable of handling herself (Shiro thought with not a small amount of admiration) so it had to be serious if she asked for backup.

 

He ran faster.

 

The doors slid open with barely a sound, as Shiro burst into the control room, and promptly tried not to die of laughter.

 

“Um,” he said.   _Diplomat face, Takashi, you’re the leader of this team, you’re an_ adult _-_

 

 **_Well you need an ADULTIER adult,_ ** another part of his brain demanded.

 

 _You are_ not _helping._

 

Allura stood with the most irritable expression on her face that he had ever seen. Around her, an entire _band_ of aliens stood, tooting, banging, or scree-ing respectively on the Space Version of various musical instruments. What they were playing, exactly?

 

The Beatles. The goddamn Beatles.

 

“ _Lucy in the SKYYYYY with di-i-amonds! Lucy in the SKYYYY with di-i-amonds! LUCY IN THE SKYYYYYY WITH DIAMONDS! OHHHHHH -”_ screeched the aliens, not actually that badly, if he were to be optimistic.

 

He wasn’t being optimistic.

 

Shiro wanted to die.

 

“Do you know the meaning of this?” Allura interrogated. Shiro took a step back, fighting his arms down when they automatically went to rise into the air. “They have been following me closely since I exited my quarters this morning. I am extremely displeased with their chanting.”

 

“This is an Earth song, princess. It -”

 

Behind him, the door hissed open again ( _tsssssssss_ ), and he knew that it was Keith that had entered the room. Shiro heard the younger’s footsteps falter, then slowly turn around and start to edge out. Whipping around at the speed of light, he caught the back of Keith’s suit and dragged him back in.

 

He lifted the red paladin up to eye level.

 

“Not _that_ easily.”

 

“When I said ‘die together’ this is not what I meant.”

 

“ _\- rocking horse people eat marshmellow pies -”_

 

“I thought you were talking to your knife.”

 

“Shiro!”

 

“Just - just suffer with me.”

 

“Keith!” Allura pounced. “Do you know the meaning of this? Did you orchestrate it?”

 

“I’m not -”

 

“ _\- newspaper taxies appear on the shore -”_

 

“I’m not part of this!”

 

 _Tssssssssssssssss._ Footsteps entered.

 

Footsteps froze.

 

Footsteps ran forward, past Shiro and Keith, and up to inspect the currently retro-music-blasting extraterrestrials.

 

“Whoa, is this the Beatles? How do these guys know it? I’m pretty sure they’re not from Earth. I mean, _I’ve_ never seen someone from Earth with that many heads - ” Lance leaned in what must have been uncomfortably close to a green-skinned alien with five of them, “ - but who am I to judge? Also, horns,” he said, poking at the ones belonging to a furry, tall alien with eight eyes. The blue paladin wore his blue Altean pyjamas, bayard at his hip, helmet swinging from his fingers. _Was he standing on the smaller alien’s_ head _?_ “Never seen those, either. On a human, obviou -”

 

“Lance! Did you organise this?” the princess questioned from underneath Lance, who was currently balancing on a number of aliens to inspect one of their number’s horns. The tanned boy shrugged.

 

“I’m not the criminal here, princess,” Lance denied, smirking and leaning on some poor yellow, dinosaur-like alien’s head as they puffed at the Not-Trumpet. “If anything, it’s _you_ that’s the criminal, for stealing my heart.”

 

The alien he was leaning on took their instrument out of their mouth long enough to inform him, “That was terrible,” and immediately began playing again. Lance spluttered. He fell off his position in his alien jungle gym and landed on the hard Castle floor.

 

( ** _Mmmmmmmmm, whatcha sayyyyyyyyyyy,_** clamored Shiro’s brain.

 

 _This is not the time,_ Shiro’s far more sensible brain shot back.)

 

The band around him paid Lance no attention. Shiro winced in sympathy.

 

“ _-i-amonds! OHHHHHHHHHHH -”_

 

“Which one of you decided it was a good idea to play Beatles this early?”

 

Pidge had arrived. And was cranky. Her clothes were crinkled from a night sleeping in wherever she’d passed out, her hair like oak-flavoured candy floss, eyes filled with sleep.

 

Wait, no. That was anger.

 

That was anger.

 

“Not that it’s uh, a _bad_ idea, but some of us like _not_ to panic when they hear that they’re uh,  needed _immediately_ for -”

 

Hunk. His trademark bandana was tied sloppily, bayard in hand as he rambled nervously. He’d worried about Allura. Affection for the boy melted Shiro’s pain.

 

“ _\- the girl with kaleidoscope eyes -_ “

 

 _And_ there the pain was again.

 

“Terrible retro. You didn’t even pick a good one!”

 

“ _Pidge!_ ”

 

“What is the fuss, paladins?”

 

Coran. Thank god. Now, _he_ was an Adulty Adult™. He could sort things out. Apparently, Allura had the same idea.

 

“Coran! These intruders have been tracking me all day! I cannot stop them!”

 

The older Altean twirled his carrot-reminiscent moustache. “And, princess?”

 

“I cannot do anything if _they_ are _distracting_ me from my duties!” She stabbed an accusing finger at the surrounding colourful band.

 

“Marvellous! I was just thinking that we needed an off day!” Shiro wasn’t sure whether to kiss Coran or punch him.

 

“ - _LUCY IN THE SKYYYYYY WITH DI-I-AMONDS! OHHHHHHHHHH -”_

 

Lance decided to speak up. He sprung from his position on the floor. Hunk jumped, apparently not having noticed he was there.

 

“Never fear, ‘llura!” the boy exclaimed, shooting her finger guns and a confident grin. “Sherlock Holmes is on the case! We shall soon have this mystery solved.”

 

He then whipped out a deerstalker and a pipe, shoving the former on his head, and stuffing the latter in his mouth, then adding a magnifying glass to complete the look. _Where did those even come from?_ Shiro wondered. Lance lifted up the sleuthing equipment to his face, making one of his blue eyes comically larger than the other, and raised an old-fashioned eyebrow.

 

“ _Lucy in the SKYYY with di-i-amonds! Lucy in the SKYYY with di-i-amonds…”_ the music faded out. Shiro slumped in relief. Hunk patted him on the back comfortingly.

 

The Alteans stared at Lance. Hunk chuckled. Keith also stared, but then left, throwing his hands into the air, and muttering something about giving up.

 

“What conclusions have you come to, Sherlock?” asked Hunk playfully.

 

“Hmmmmmmmm,” said Lance. He suddenly looked very serious. “I,” He raised an impressive arm, “Have come to the conclusion that…”

 

“That…?”

 

Lance looked Hunk dead in the eye.   “... I have no clue.”

 

Pidge was unamused.

 

“Nuh-uh. _I_ will be Mr. Holmes, and _you_ will be my _dear_ Watson,” she declared, striding (well, as much as you can stride at that height, Shiro internalized) up to the boy, stealing his hat and cleaning the pipe before sticking it in her own mouth. “The game is afoot!”

 

Lance pouted, but didn’t argue. Pidge, nose on the trail, dragged him by the hand out of the room, leaving the smell of roasted Lance and bubble bath in their wake. Shiro decided that that was his cue to also leave.

 

“If that’s all, princess…” he let the sentence trail off, leaving her an opening to address any other issues if need be.

 

“One more thing, if it is not a problem.” He sighed. **Great.** “Who is Lucy, and why is she in the sky? Is Lucy one of your Earth gods? Diamonds are a precious material on Earth, I have gathered, and of course a god would hold such riches, but _what does the rest of it mean?_ It does not -”

 

Today was going to be a long day.

 

***

Pidge looked up from inspecting the floor on the observatory deck. Allura and her vivid escorts stood nearby, one frowning while the others played non-stop with a wild abandon that was vaguely terrifying. The small girl very seriously puffed bubbles through the pipe before taking it out.

 

“From my deductions, we can see that -”

 

A single note cut through Pidge’s words, freezing her mid-sentence. Lance stopped breathing.

 

“Oh, no,” whispered Pidge, unconsciously at first, but with growing urgency, “Oh no, oh no, oh _no,_ oh _hell_ no, we need to _leave -”_

 

“Paladins?”

 

“Allura, you gotta run -”

 

There was a sound of crashing in the distance. Metal clanged, glass shattered, hoarse yelling was heard. Lance grabbed Pidge by the hand, sprinting to the nearest door. “Allura!”

 

It was too late.

 

Keith burst through a wall, tangled in wires and smoking slightly, a crazed look in his eyes. He skidded across the floor on his knees, screaming.

 

(Behind him, you could see a progression of similar ragged holes leading back to the training room where Shiro sat gasping for breath on the floor. You could see the tears in his eyes from a mile away.)

 

It had been the G Note.

 

“ _whEN I WAS -”_

 

***

 

The detective duo were in the lion’s hangars.

 

Noise floated through the door. “ _You know the game is on -_ damn right - _I look incred-i-ble -_ c’mon man - _I’m in this big ass -_ big ass coat - _from that flat 22 -”_  Both crime solvers ignored it.

 

“If anyone on this ship paid them and got them on here,” Pidge murmured, studying the ground, “They would have done it here.”

 

“Uh, why?”

 

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” smirked Pidge. “They could just blame it on extra training.”

 

She took a long puff of her bubble pipe, letting a stream of them float away into the ether. Lance popped a few.

 

“So…” muttered Pidge, shuffling forward in a half-crouch, intently staring at the area around her feet. Lance snorted. “Suspects: not Allura, obviously, not me, not you -”

 

“Why not me?” asked Lance, offended.

 

“You’re not sneaky enough. Not Keith, he can’t even talk to _humans_ , much less other species, not Shiro, did you see his face? That was -”

 

“The face of a broken man.”

 

“ _Exactly._ So that leaves Coran, or…”

 

Lance looked up. They were standing in front of the yellow lion. There was a sole, fresh, muddy footprint next to the lions jaw. The blue paladin stared at Pidge.

 

“ _No._ ”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” she said grimly.

 

***

 

Shiro sits in the kitchen, downing space coffee. He stares with dead eyes into the distance. Allura walks in and out, playing 90’s music, and he barely blinks. Hunk pats him on the shoulder now and then.

 

“Okay, but some of it points towards here -”

 

“But that’s the kitchen!”

 

“So?”

 

Voices. Outside. How long has it been since he’s heard something that’s not a song lyric? Shiro doesn’t know. Shiro can hear colours, and taste sounds, but he doesn’t know. He’s not sure he wants to know.

 

“ _SO,_  it’s _Hunk_.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“If you do not admit that Hunk is a sunshine bean that would never harm a fly, we cannot be friends anymore.”

 

“Who said we were friends?”

 

There was a gasp. “ _Pidgeon,_ you _wound_ me -”

 

 _Tsssssssssss._ That sound tasted like when you have your mouth sucked dry at the dentist. Shiro shuddered at the thought.

 

Lance and Pidge wandered in the door, bickering amiably. Pidge re-filled her pipe with bubble bath. She was now wearing a trench coat, Shiro noticed. It sounded like a single deep note on a violin. Lovely shade of black.

 

“Heyyyyyy, are you okay, Shiro?”

 

Lance was in front of him. Lance was asking after his well-being. Lance was wearing the deerstalker and Pidge hadn’t noticed yet.

 

 _Absolutely fine,_ was what he meant to say. That was not what came out.

 

“Is this the real life?” Shiro asked, eyes devoid of hope.

 

Lance’s features transformed. Shiro didn’t understand why, for a second, but then it clicked.

 

_Ohhhhhhhh, no._

 

The blue paladin leaned in and whispered, “Or is this just fantasy?”

 

“Caught in a landslide,” added Hunk absentmindedly.

 

“No escape from reality,” grinned Pidge.

 

 _TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS._ Shiro’s mouth was dry again. The aliens were in the kitchen.

 

_“OPEN YOUR EYES, LOOK UP TO THE SKIES AND SEEEEEEEE -”_

 

“ _HOW and WHY do they know QUEEN?”_ ”

 

***

 

Keith incredulously cocked his head to one side in the observatory deck at the sound that echoed through the Castle.

 

“Is - is that quiznacking _Queen?!_ ”

 

“If you don’t mind, number four, what is Queen?”

 

“... Bohemian Rhapsody?”

 

“Oh, everyone in the universe knows that one!”

 

“ _Really?_ ”

 

“Yes, really! Let me just get my swoodlepowper -”

 

“Your _what_ now.”

 

***

 

“ _I don’t wanna die!”_ sang Lance, watching Allura warily from the other side of the room. She looked furious that they were enjoying her torture.

 

 _“I SOMETIMES WISH I’D NEVER BEEN BORN AT ALL!”_ cut in Shiro.

 

Pidge air-guitared.

 

***

 

Led by Coran, Keith gazed around in awe at the collection of instruments lining the walls of this room that he had never even known existed.

 

“This is…”

 

“Noisy! I’ll just go get my swoodlepowper. Inspect anything you like, just don’t break it.”

 

Coran disappeared behind a stack of Altean saxophones. The boy stood awkwardly for a moment, before going over to fiddle with something that looked a bit like a piano. He pressed a couple of keys and was surprised when he heard a flutey, almost ethereal sound.

 

He jumped when he heard Coran behind him.

 

“Nice choice, number four! That is the flooshta!”

 

“... On Earth we just call it a piano.”

 

“Ah, well, you Earthlings have strange names for things. Let’s go!”

 

“Coran, would I - I -”

 

_Why was it so hard to ask?_

 

“The doors of this room are always open, number four.”

 

“Thanks, Coran.”

 

***

 

“ _THUNDERBOLTS AND LIGHTNING, VERY, VERY FRIGHTENING ME!_ ”

 

“Gallileo!” pitched Lance highly from Hunk’s shoulders, out of reach from Pidge, who had eventually noticed that her hat was sitting atop the blue paladin’s head. She looked like she was about to climb the wall with her teeth.

 

“ _Gallileo,_ ” groaned Shiro from his face down position on the floor.

 

Keith popped his head in the door. “Gallileo?”

 

“Gallileo,” Hunk confirmed.

 

“GALLILEO FIGARO,” screeched Pidge, diving from the ceiling in an attempt to get her hat back.

 

“ _MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOOO,”_ belted Coran - _was he wearing_ **_shades_ ** _? -_ bursting in the door and nearly flattening Keith with an instrument that looked suspiciously like a guitar.

 

Allura looked like she was going to explode.

 

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**BONUS:**

 

It was dark in the lion's hangars as Hunk waved off the musicians. “Thank you, guys. It means, uh,  a lot. The food's - uh, the payment's in the back.”

 

“It is an honour to serve a paladin of voltron,” said a green-skinned, five-headed alien seriously, seemingly the leader. “Especially one so… well versed in the culinary arts.”

 

“Uh, no problem. See you guys!” The aliens got into the pod and were soon on their way. The yellow paladin sighed happily and turned around to head back to the main Castle when he spotted the silhouettes.

 

One was small and had a floofy hairstyle, the other tall and holding a rose.

 

“To protect the universe from devastation,” began the smaller one, throwing out their hands.

 

“To unite all aliens in every nation,” declared the second, tipping the rose towards their face like a microphone.

 

“To spread peace, truth, and love.” The small one made elaborate arm movements as they listed off.

 

“To extend our reach through the stars above!” The taller grunted as the floofy haired one jumped on his shoulders.

 

Light illuminated the scene from Green’s eyes.

 

“Pidge.” The smaller girl looked smugly down at him from her position on Lance’s head, arms folded, standing tall.

 

“L-Lance,” gasped the other, trying not to fall over from the weight.

 

“Team Turquoise, blasting off at the spee-eed of light!” Pidge jumped off of the Cuban boy, landing perfectly in front of Hunk.

 

Lance fell over. “S-Surrender now - _ow_ \- or prepare to f-fight! _Yeesh!_ ” groaned the heap on the floor.

 

The mice somersaulted over the mess that was Lance, landing on Pidge’s shoulders. The squeaks they gave needed no translation.

 

Hunk decided to make the most of it. “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddlin’ kids!”

 

The heap pushed itself up to one elbow.  Shadows fell across Lance’s frowning face.“What? Hunk, no, buddy, no. Wrong franchise.”

 

“ _Quiznack._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you actually got through this, I am so, so sorry. Kudos and comments are more than welcome. Let this haunt you for the rest of your days.
> 
> Thanks to those who commented last chapter! The lovely IcyPanther, and IncrediblyIncompetent, thank you so much!


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